A Clash of Paths
by Darke Angel
Summary: [Eragon] ‘Entire nations could exist in secret there...’ The Beor Mountains hide a small village, whose people chance across Eragon heading to the Varden. But will they help or betray?


**Summary:** '_Entire nations could exist in secret there..._' The Beor Mountains hide a small village, whose people chance across Eragon heading to the Varden. But will they help or betray? An Alternate Universe fanfiction.

**Disclaimer:** Eragon belongs to Christopher Paolini and his publishing company. I do not own any part of it, and do this for no profit, just for my enjoyment – and hopefully, yours. Enjoy!

**Author's Note:** The title was taken from the chapters named 'A Path Revealed' and 'A Clash of Wills', where my story deviates from. Eragon, Snowfire, Saphira, Murtagh and Tornac are in the Beor Mountains, heading towards the Varden with Arya, the female elf that they saved. She is poisoned and needs an antidote soon, or the poison will take over her system. Right now she is in a self-induced coma that slows the poison. They have just met with slavers a few leagues from the foothills of the Beor.

The first paragraph is taken from the book, and hopefully there'll be no problems with copyright issues...? Also, the names here do not have any accents, even if they do in the book; I find that when I use symbols they turn up weird on my computer.

**Extra Comments:** I find that Paolini's work is very similar to Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series, and Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. The types of creatures are the same – shade-like and urgal-like creatures in Wheel of Time, elves, dwarves, humans and dragon-like creatures in Lord of the Rings. The protagonists – Eragon, Frodo, Rand – are in similar situations as well. Right. You can ignore me now.

A Clash of Paths 

Chapter One

            _The lines deepened on the leader's face. "Throw down your swords and surrender!" The slavers tensed, staring at them with cold eyes as neither Eragon nor Murtagh lowered his weapon._

            "I said throw down your swords and surrender!"

            They didn't move.

            "Just fight them already, Torkenbrand! Who care if they have scares?"

            "Silence! If we hurt them we'll have to pay for their healing, and I won't waste money!" the leader snapped.

           _Eragon! There are people on horses coming!_

            Eragon groaned mentally while keeping a wary eye on the men surrounding them, especially Torkenbrand, who was arguing with the other man. _More slavers?_

            _They dress differently._

            _That doesn't mean – _

            One of the slavers suddenly screamed, slumping forward on his horse. The animal whinnied, panicked, and reared, throwing the slaver off. He tumbled onto the ground face-first, and it was then they all saw the arrow shaft deep in his back.

            _What do I do?_

_            Hold off first, let's see how this goes._

            Torkenbrand yelled a command, and he and the archers wheeled their horses around to face the direction the arrow had come from. The remaining ten slavers kept their swords drawn, pointed menacingly at Eragon and company. Murtagh muttered from the corner of his mouth, "On my command, we attack this bunch."

            The slavers loosed a volley of arrows, and the group of riders galloping down the slope the slavers were on earlier swerved to avoid the shafts, and kept coming, unhurt. Their own archers shot, and two slavers went down, their horses panicking and rearing, affecting the other horses. While they were savagely pulling on the reigns of their mounts, another round of arrows took down three more archers and stuck one of the horses.

            The animal whinnied in pain and reared, hooves flailing, causing the rest of the horses to rear and fight against their riders. "Now!" shouted Mortagh, and they leapt forward, swords drawn. Mortagh lunged at the riders from Tornac's back while they were trying to reign in their horses, and Eragon protected Snowfire and Arya from those on the ground. He slashed a slaver in the arm, then smashed an elbow into his face. Whirling, he kicked another one in the stomach and punched him in the nose, then kicked him away from the horse and the elf.

At the same time, the attacking group smashed into the slavers, swords whirling. The new riders were wearing sand-brown cloaks and hoods, and were obviously used to fighting, from the quick way they dealt with the slavers, slashing deep enough only to hurt, not to kill, and scaring the horses away. They left Eragon and Snowfire alone. In an instant it was over, and the slavers had all fled; the riders let them. Only Torkenbrand, a huge gash on his leg and blood all over his face, was left kneeling in the dirt.

One of the riders dismounted. He turned his hidden face to Eragon and said calmly, "We'll deal with you later." Turning, he nodded at Murtagh. "Both of you." It was then Eragon realized that he, Murtagh, and Arya all had arrows aimed at them, and decided it was best to stay compliant for now.

_Eragon?_

_It's fine, just wait._

The rider strode up to Torkenbrand and kicked him, causing the slaver to curl up. "You captured one of our people months ago, slaver, in the Hadarac Desert. Tell us where he is and we will not kill you."

"What does he look like?" Torkenbrand croaked.

The rider described him. Eragon realized that the man they were talking about fit the description of the slave he had seen being sold in Dras-Leona. If that was the case...

"Never seen him before," the man croaked.

"Don't lie!" the rider snarled. "I can recognize your ragged little group! We have been on the lookout ever since that day."

"I swear, it wasn't me!" Torkenbrand whined.

"I saw him – the person you described."

All eyes fixed on Eragon. "Where?" the rider demanded.

"In Dras-Leona, slightly more than a month ago. He was being sold."

The rider swore. "That's more then a month's ride and by now he could be anywhere!" He whirled around to glare at Torkenbrand, raising his sword. "You piece of scum, I'm sick of looking at you!"

"No!" Eragon shouted, but it was too late; Torkenbrand's head, separated cleanly from his body, fell to the ground with a thump. Restraining himself from moving, painfully aware of the bolts pointing at him, he yelled, enraged, "Why did you kill him?"

"There are Urgals coming," the rider said calmly, wiping his sword on Torkenbrand's clothing. "We cannot leave him to run into them, nor can we bring him with us." He nodded at two of his companions, who got down, took out shovels from their saddlebags, and set about digging a hole – to put Torkenbrand in, Eragon surmised.

"But why _kill_ him?"

"Eragon. They did what they had to do," intervened Murtagh. "His life is hardly more important than ours."

Eragon switched his glare to his companion. "Well, you can't just indulge in wanton violence – where is your empathy?" he growled.

"What _empathy_ can we afford our enemies?" said another rider quietly. "If we defend ourselves it's bound to cause someone pain. Shall we let ourselves be victimized because it will hurt others if we do not?"

"You must be willing to protect yourself and what you cherish, no matter what the cost," Murtagh agreed.

Eragon shook his head savagely, jamming Zar'roc back into its sheath. His glare was now solely for Murtagh alone. Ignoring the archers, whose bows swiveled to follow him around, he strode over to Tornac, and Murtagh got off the horse to meet him on the ground. "You can justify any atrocity with that reasoning," he hissed.

"You think I enjoy this? My life has been threatened ever since I was born; all my waking hours are spent avoiding danger! I sleep badly because I worry if I'll live to see the dawn. I wasn't even safe in my mother's womb! You don't understand – if you lived with this _fear_ you would not argue, you'd have learned what I did: _Do not take chances_." Murtagh gestured at Torkenbrand's body. "_That_ is a danger. _That_ is a threat. _That _is a risk removed, and I only wish I had done it myself!"

Shoving his face into Murtagh's Eragon said coldly, "It was still the wrong thing to do."

They stared each other down before another rider nudged his horse between them. "Alright, break it up," he said gruffly.

"Your friend is right – Eragon, is it? Who is your friend?"

He reluctantly dragged his gaze away from Murtagh and instead faced the rider that had first dismounted. "Yes," he muttered. "And _his_ name's Murtagh."

"What is your business here?"

"We – " Eragon hesitated. "We seek the Kostha-merna," he said finally.

The riders stiffened, and the one in front of Eragon asked tightly, "What for do you seek it?"

"I cannot say – "

There was an exclamation behind them. "Kunta, this one's an elf!"

Eragon cursed mentally.

The rider glanced over, and nodded. "So I see. An elf... ah, you head for the Varden, do you not?"

Both Eragon and Murtagh stared.

The rider pushed back his hood. Dark brown eyes looked calmly out from under messy short black hair, and Eragon gave a start – the leader of this band of riders was actually only about Murtagh's age. He gave Eragon a crooked grin. "I am Kunta, and as young as I am I head the village. The Beor is magnificent, yes? We hide in it, and know of the Varden, but we are too small for the Varden to know of us. Which brings us to your problem. Why have you an elf?"

Throwing caution to the wind, remembering Arya's critical state, Eragon said, "We need to get her to the Varden. They have an antidote to the poison that runs in her blood. She will die soon, in a few days."

_Hurry, the Urgals are advancing! Chase the humans off!_

_I know, I know. I'll try to solve this quickly._

Kunta's eyes narrowed. "It is a long way to the Varden. You will not get there in time."

"We will ride without stopping."

Kunta looked to Murtagh. "And what to you say of this?"

Murtagh shrugged, looking sullen. "What he says."

"You look fit to die, not to ride," Kunta said bluntly. "Come to our village, it is on the way. We will give you food and directions."

Another rider protested. "Kunta, they are strangers! How do we know to trust them?"

"How do we know to trust _you_?" Murtagh retorted. "Let's just go our separate ways. We have... means." His eyes flicked to the skies and back again.

Kunta stared at them, and then suddenly, like a snake striking, he was on Eragon, pinning him down. He ripped off Eragon's glove and twisted his palm up.

Eragon yelled and shoved Kunta off. But it was too late. Kunta staggered back, staring at him. "Shur'tugal," he whispered. "A new generation is born."

Warily, Eragon got up, tugging his glove back on. "What of it?" he snapped.

"I would like to see your dragon."

_What do you think?_

_I am coming._

"Alright," Eragon agreed. "But we need to hurry, the Urgals are near – and our elf does not have much time left."

Kunta whistled, and his horse trotted over. He swung himself on the horse's back, and reached a hand down to Eragon. "Come, Rider," he said. "Your white horse can take the elf. You will come with me."

Eragon had no choice but to get on as the other riders secured Arya to Snowfire. Once Eragon was seated, Kunta gave the command and the group raced south, towards the outstretched arms of the mountains. The riders rode the horses hard, and their pace was one that Eragon would have previously thought impossible.

_Saphira, meet us at the foothills._

_That is still a fair distance away._

_We will reach it by nightfall, at the rate we're going._

_All right._

"Our village is very small, with about two hundred inhabitants," Kunta said quietly, voice nevertheless able to reach Eragon's ears, as he was seated just behind. "We live a few leagues into the forests, between here and the Beartooth River, the Varden's stronghold. We can lead you there."

"How can we trust you?"

Kunta shrugged. "You cannot, just like I cannot trust you not to stick your sword in my back."

"I will not!" Eragon cried, appalled.

"Then there is your answer."

They fell silent, immersed in the harsh whistling of the wind as they sped forward. "These are wonderful horses you have," Eragon ventured.

"Not as good as a dragon, but as good as they can get," Kunta agreed.

"That man the slavers caught..."

Kunta was silent, then said stiffly, "He was my twin brother."

"I am sorry."

            It was night by the time they stopped, at the far edge of the foothills. The riders concealed the fire they made, and some began making dinner, while others groomed the horses, after they settled Arya's still body near the fire's warmth. Murtagh sat alone on one side of the fire, keeping to himself, while Eragon contacted Saphira.

            _We have made camp. Can you come now?_

_            Certainly. Just show me where you are._

            Eragon did.

            _I will come soon._

            "When will we see your dragon?"

            Eragon turned to see a curious look on Kunta's face. "She's coming soon."

            "What's her name?"

            "Saphira."

            "A good name."

            One man called out, "Broth's ready!"

            Kunta nodded towards the fire. "Come. I will introduce you to the men while we eat."

            They settled around the fire in a circle, gulping down a thick broth that tasted delicious to Eragon after the grueling trek through the desert. As Kunta introduced them one by one, he nodded and smiled at the hard-looking villagers, but their names passed through his mind. His every sense was on the alert for Saphira.

            Halfway through the meal, there was a protest of rustling leaves, and a shadow swooped overhead. Grinning, Eragon scrambled up, as did Kunta. _Saphira!_ he called mentally.

            _I need to find a clearing to land._

            "Is there any clearing near here?" Eragon asked quickly.

            Kunta nodded. "I will lead you to it."

            They walked a little ways from the camp, and emerged into a smaller, but still quite large, clearing. Eragon showed Saphira where it was, and soon, with a rustle of wings and leaves, the blue dragon landed.

            "Saphira!" Eragon exclaimed happily, striding forward to hug her. _I missed you._

            _As did I._

            He stepped away, and smiled amusedly at Kunta, who was gazing at Saphira in awe. "Kunta, this is Saphira."

            "I am honoured to meet you," Kunta breathed, bowing slightly. Eragon could feel the amusement in Saphira's mind.

            _Tell him it's a pleasure,_ Saphira said.

            He duly relayed the message. "She says it's a pleasure to meet you."

            "No, no, the pleasure is all mine. Would you two care to go back to camp? I am sure the others will be most amazed and pleased to see such a magnificent creature."

            "Lead the way."

            They followed Kunta back into the forest. _He speaks well, but flattery is deceit,_ Saphira cautioned Eragon. _Do not trust them._

            _I know, but he is friendly enough. Their horses are strong, and they are fast. They have helped us a lot._

            _Do not let your guard down, that is all._

_            I know._

            They were almost at the camp now; Eragon could see the lights. _Time to awe people again,_ he commented with a mental sigh.

            _Yes. It is fun._

            Shaking his head, Eragon and Saphira emerged from the trees, his hand on her flank. He just hoped they would turn in soon; the earlier they set out the better, because he feared Arya wouldn't last much longer.

            _Hold on... just, please, hold on._

~To be continued~

Reviews? Constructive ones are best.  Encouraging ones are very nice. Oh, yes, tell me if you like Arya, because I might end up killing her. ^^;

If I _do_ kill her, then this will be a long series that will try to stay with the plot, but will likely veer away from it. If I _don't_, then this will be a short series, maybe two or three chapters, and it'll end about the time after Eragon's seen Ajihad.

So yes, review.

::: Darke Angel :::


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